An Inopportune Entrance PART TWO
by Peak-in-Darien
Summary: Slash. Stephen and Jack are troubled.


Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing. The characters belong to Patrick O'Brian and this fic is influenced by the movie.  
  
Note: This is a follow-on from An Inopportune Entrance, which was a follow- on from Desire. I should've just made it one story and chaptered it. Hey, if I was a doctor or a captain I would probably would have thought of that. But unfortunately I'm not. =) --------------------  
  
If one did not know better, one could almost suppose that time had frozen.  
  
There was an unnaturally long moment as the three men gazed at each other. Killick's mouth hung open like a door on a hinge as he stared at the unashamedly naked men before him: the captain and the doctor, locked in an embrace.  
  
For a moment he thought that perhaps the rum had been playing havoc with him, and that this was some kind of drink-induced vision. But then he saw Stephen move, and it dawned on him that it was all too real. Before either of the lovers could utter a word, the steward had left at a run, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Jack sat up, and Stephen removed his hands from his body.  
  
"This is dangerous."  
  
"I know," Stephen replied weakly, watching Jack dress. "I know."  
  
---------------------  
  
Since they had no way of knowing what Killick had done, whether the whole crew knew by now about what he had seen, there was an unbelievable tension aboard the ship the next day.  
  
Jack strode up and down, his eyes angrily raking the crew, watching every minor task and adjustment, snapping at every reluctance or failure. The men quickly learnt to keep out of the path of his sudden wrath, though most of them were unsure of how they had earned it. For the rest of the time, Jack gazed out at the ocean with a hard stare. He thought of Killick, and he shuddered, a powerful jolt going through his body. But soon his thoughts turned to Stephen, and his gaze softened, for even their current state of risk could not lessen his affection and his recent desires. Everywhere he looked, he saw Stephen. He ran his hands over the hard wood beneath them and groaned.  
  
Stephen, on the other hand, had become pale and reclusive. Still enjoying an absence of injuries aboard the ship, he spent most of his time in his room, shunning the company of others. His last visitor had made him shaky and tense, and now when the door opened to reveal Jack, Stephen dropped the bowl he was holding, and it shattered to pieces on the floor.  
  
"Careful, careful, my dear," Jack said in a whisper, pushing away the pieces with his foot and leaning over Stephen. "You must watch yourself."  
  
"What about Killick? What's going to happen?"  
  
"You need not worry," Jack said, with a half-smile, "I have convinced him - persuaded, you might almost say, yes, persuaded him to keep quiet."  
  
"Oh!" Stephen cried. "You do not understand, we-"  
  
That was all he could manage before Jack stopped his words with a kiss, passionate and forceful, almost savage. For a few moments Stephen recoiled, as if trying to fight Jack's warm hands creeping higher on his thighs, to resist arousal. But he could not hold out for long: his desires had been unearthed too recently, and a strange sense of longing reclaimed him.  
  
One kiss, then two, then three, then four; then Jack withdrew.  
  
Stephen had gone past the point of control, and a strange whirl of pleasure filled his head. He gripped Jack, pulling him inwards, drawing him further down on his body, fingers weaving a web of sensitive thrill wherever they touched.  
  
"Stephen," Jack said, attempting a moment's composure, "Stephen, we must be careful. We cannot let anyone know what we are doing."  
  
"And how would you have me cover it up?"  
  
Reluctantly, Jack looked over to the corner of the room. "I see you had your cello brought down today."  
  
Stephen ran a hand down Jack's chest, towards his abdomen. "I don't understand."  
  
Jack just nodded towards the instrument, and Stephen realised.  
  
Ever so slowly, he walked over to the cello, and took up the bow. A long, gentle melody poured out, as if Stephen was creating the music, as if it came from somewhere deep inside him.  
  
As Stephen sat and played, Jack walked over and kissed his neck.  
  
The tempo of the music increased. Jack unbuttoned his friend's shirt, carefully, his hands curving around Stephen's body from behind, and for a moment the music wavered. Then it quickened again. Jack's hands played lower, and then, as if settling himself to it, he knelt. He contented himself with using his tongue on Stephen's pale chest, and his mouth pressed harder and harder.  
  
All that night, the cello moaned. 


End file.
